


Her Dream Girl

by queenofthefallenfics



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter: Hogwarts Mystery, Hogwarts Mystery
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Artist Penny Haywood, Dreamsharing, F/F, Merula Synde Redemption, Tumblr Prompt, Visions in dreams
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-27
Updated: 2018-05-27
Packaged: 2019-05-14 06:22:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14764293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenofthefallenfics/pseuds/queenofthefallenfics
Summary: "Imagine you OTP meeting every night in their dreams, even before ever seeing each other in real life, but never being able to speak. Imagine one or both of that have a very colorful, creative imagination and their dreams always have extravagant scenery, beautiful sunsets, colorful skies, extraordinary castles etc. Now imagine person A visiting an art gallery in another country and finding an exhibit of paintings just like what they see in their dreams, only the artist is anonymous."Changed it a bit, because I'm a sucker for happy endings.





	Her Dream Girl

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt from:
> 
> http://otpprompts.tumblr.com/post/174233416059/imagine-you-otp-meeting-every-night-in-their

Merula always knew she was strange. Growing up with her uncle because both parents were in jail because of activities they did while being part of some unmentionable gang was one of the more obvious reasons as to why she was odd.

One of the lesser-known qualities about her was that, for as long as she could remember, she would always dream of the same girl.

It started when she first entered primary school. It was right after her parents when to jail and it was still in all the headlines and bylines of the news, both on the TV and in the paper. When she entered her first-grade class, no one spoke to her or sat with her or interacted with her all day long. By the time the day was over and her uncle was picking her up, Merula was ready to cry and never come back. She got home and curled up on her big, lonely bed and took a nap, ignoring the disapproving comments from her nanny.

That was when she first met her.

Merula dreamt she was in the park a few blocks away, a place her parents would often take her too. She was sitting alone on the swings when she saw a girl walking to her. This girl had long blonde hair, with a crown of braids and one more in the side of her hair, as well.

She smiled when she saw Merula looking at her and waved. Merula blinked, shocked at this greeting the girl was giving her after an abysmal first day of school. The blonde girl waved again and Merula, hesitantly, waved back. Her smile grew bigger and she picked up speed to get to Merula. The blonde girl stopped in front of her and opened her mouth to say hello.

But when her mouth moved, there was no sound. The girl blinked, clearly surprised. She tried to speak again, but no sound left her mouth. Then she clapped and Merula jumped at the loud sound. A distraught and upset expression crossed the girl’s face, but before she started crying she disappeared. Merula frowned and looked around the empty playground, already used to being alone as she bit her lip and tried not to cry.

But that first dream was years ago. Merula had never met her Dream Girl in life and, with her friends, never wanted to. To her, Blondie would only and always stay in her dreams, and would be as unattainable as any other dream she had.

Now, Merula was older and finishing university, trying to get a degree in chemistry without getting into any more trouble with the police, not after her stupid friends convinced her to do a little B&E and she got caught. If she wanted to get a job anywhere after graduation, she had to focus on finishing with high marks and without any more drama from the police. Merula just had to focus on those goals and ignore her dreams.

Like the dream of seeing her parents free, of leaving her creepy uncle and his insistence that she join the same gang her parents had. Like the dream of dating a girl, any girl, not just her Dream Girl.

“Synde, pay attention,” a sharp voice ordered, cutting into her daydreams and doodles.

Felix Rosier, her parole officer, was glaring at her. “Sorry, sir,” she sneered.

He just gave her a disdainful look and continued speaking. “You’ll be escorting an Augusta Longbottom to the event, Lee,” he said, dropping a file on her deskmate’s half of the table. “You’ll be taking an Arabella Figg to this event, Synde,” he told her, dropping a similarly thin file on the table.

“I’m sorry,” she said, not a bit of contriteness in her voice, “what event is this exactly?”

“An art gala or something,” Lee told her, shooting her a smirk. “Not listening, Merula?”

“Bugger off,” Merula snarled, glaring at the boy with spiky hair.

“You are both expected to be there to meet your ‘buddies’-”

“-More like biddies,” Merula muttered under her breath, causing Lee to choke.

“-at eight o’clock sharp,” Rosier said, giving them a sharp look. “Don’t mess this up, simpletons. Now, leave.”

“Gladly,” Lee replied, already on his feet. “Merula, wanna grab some coffee?” he asked as she pushed past him to get through the doorway.

“I’ve already told you, Lee,” Merula snapped, “you’re not my type.”

“Who says that you’re my type?” Lee responded, an offended look on his face. “Well, actually, you are, but hey, whoever said I couldn’t take a hint. I swear I won’t hit on you.”

Merula raised a brow and walked outside, right into a gust of wind. She shoved the file into her bag and shrugged. “Next time, Lee,” she said. “See you tonight.” Lee sighed, but let her leave with a halfhearted wave.

Merula got back to her crappy apartment and flipped through the file. Figg was some old, sixty-something-year-old lady with cat hair all over here. Merula sneered and then threw the file on the bed, going to her desk to work on her chemistry work.

* * *

Merula tugged her green, shimmery dress further down her thighs under the watchful eyes of Figg. She pulled her black coat over her shoulders and tried to cover her chest with it. “Good?” she checked snarkily.

“Better,” Figg sniffed, “let’s go now.”

Merula grit her teeth and rolled her eyes as she started to push around Figg’s wheelchair. “How do you know the artist?” she asked, trying to make pleasant conversation.

“She’s the daughter of a friend of mine since childhood,” Figg told her. “She’s a very talented girl.”

“She must be,” Merula muttered, looking around the gallery, “look at this place. It must’ve cost an arm and a leg to rent it out for the night.”

“She’s spectacular,” Figg gossiped. “When she was doing a semester abroad in New York City, she would do street art. She got famous from that and some celebrities would buy her work. The first thing she did with the money upon her return home? Buy a lovely new home for her family and set aside money for her younger sister’s education.”

“She sounds nice,” Merula said.

“I keep saying that,” Figg snapped. “Come, girl, help me around.”

Merula bit her tongue and pushed the woman around the gallery, focusing on keeping quiet and not running into anyone or anything. They were just supposed to be here for an hour so that Figg could get back to her nursing home and Merula needed this to go smoothly so that she could credit for this.

Also, Rosier wasn’t too terrible when he was pleased that she completed something without any complaints or problems.

“Stop here,” Figg demanded and Merula stopped and turned her around to face the painting obediently.

Merula looked at the painting and her jaw dropped. “Bloody hell,” she gasped.

“Watch your mouth, girl,” Figg hissed, looking around.

“I- I know that park!” Merula exclaiming, taking a closer step to the painting. She recognized every bit of the park- her parents had taken her there often enough when she was younger and some days when it was nice, she’d go there to study outside. She looked at the title and blinked.

_First Meeting_

“Come back here,” Figg snapped, looking around furiously. “You never get that close to a painting, girl, do you understand? And stop gawking at it.”

“I’m- I’m sorry,” Merula apologized, going back behind Figg.

“Just go to the next painting,” Figg ordered her. Merula nodded, trying to forget the painting. “Stop here,” Figg said, stopping in front of another painting.

It was of some beach, or more accurately, a cove. It was dark and stormy, however, making the whole scene unpleasant. This painting was called Nightmare on the WWater.nd it reminded Merula of something, she just couldn’t place it. The next painting, _Carnival of Her Dreams,_ was the same.

It wasn’t until they saw the only sculpture in the entire show did it click.

The sculpture was on a wall of marble, with the artist having carved out the image without isolating it from the wall entirely. It was a little girl, no older than six or seven, sitting on a swing, tears having carved delicately on her cheeks. It made Merula freeze because she recognized that ugly spiky haircut and the necklace with a gold ring on it.

It was her. Younger, obviously, but still her.

“Lovely piece,” Figg commented. “Tragic, but lovely. Let’s keep going, girl.”

Merula nodded, already pushing her away. “Are- Is the artist here?” she questioned, trying not to sound too eager.

“Yes, she’s making the rounds,” Figg told her. “She’ll come over to greet us when she sees us.”

“And what does the artist look like?” Merula asked, looking around trying to spot someone who was engaging with a lot of people.

“Like this,” a calm voice said. Merula stopped and turned the chair around. “Hello, Auntie Arabella. I’m so glad you could make it today.”

“And miss your big day? Never darling,” Figg replied, hugging a woman with blonde hair and bent forward, giving Merula a nice view of her chest.

When she straightened up, however, her jaw dropped when Merula saw the braids in her hair. “Blondie,” she gasped.

“Yes, I’m blonde,” the artist smiled. “But most people call me Penny.”

“My name’s Merula,” she replied, shaking her head. “It’s- Your inspiration for the paintings, where did you get them?”

“My dreams,” Penny replied, her smile turning softer. “A stereotypical answer, I bet. But I’ve always liked napping, so it’s no surprise I do my best work when I’m asleep.”

Merula gave an awkward giggle and just knew that she was the girl of her dreams.

* * *

Merula leaned against the streetlight, smoking away as she waited for Penny to leave the building. She dropped off the old lady at her house and came straight back, barely catching the last bus to the art gallery. She was about to start her second fag when she said Penny leave the gallery, speaking with some older woman with a round, kind face.

Penny blinked when she noticed Merula and gave her a wide smile, clearing recognizing Merula. Penny continued the conversation with the woman and then gave her a hug before letting the older woman walk away.

“Hello,” she greeted, giving Merula an increasingly familiar smile. “What brings you back, Merula?”

“You- you remembered my name,” Merula blinked.

“Of course,” Penny said, taking a step closer. “How could I forget the girl of my dreams?”

Merula gasped. “You remembered me!”

Penny reached for Merula’s hand. “I’ve been waiting to meet you for a while, now,” she admitted. “I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind getting to know me better over drinks.”

Merula swallowed nervously and shifted, her grip on Penny’s hand tightening for a moment. “I can’t go to a bar,” Merula whispered, ashamed. “Conditions of my parole.”

“Then how about some coffee?” Penny offered, not blinking an eye. “I know a great place a few blocks away that’s open all night. I go there to study when my roommates are too loud.”

“O- okay,” Merula stammered. “Lead the way, Dream Girl.”

Penny beamed and lead Merula down the darkening street, their hands interlaced.


End file.
